When I was a small girl, there was a house where we lived that took up and entire city block. Not unusual in those times, but unusual for my small town. This house was totally surrounded by a white fence. Not a traditional white picket fence, but one of those ornate wrought iron affairs that complimented the style of the house. A true victorian with all of the curlicues that a gingerbread style house sported back then. The fence echoed the gingerbread of the house. Even as a small child, I knew that made it special long before "custom" houses were built.I loved that house, but most of all, I loved the gate opening into the back garden. It was beautiful and like the fence and other gates entering the yard, painted white. Also, like the fence surrounding the entire block, it was made of very same wrought iron, yet...it had different curlicues and decorations not seen on the fence or other gates that entered the yard around the house.This gate was tall and decorated with what I have come to now know were fleur de lis. Also making it special was the size. It was extremely tall with an arched top. To one side, there was a sign that said 'Welcome' and another lower on the side that stated 'Peace to All who Enter.'How I longed to open that gate and enter the magical place of Welcome and Peace. But...I was a shy little thing and knew this place, this garden beyond the gate held Welcome and Peace, yet never for people like me. You see, my skin was dark, my family spoke with an accent and my mother cooked and cleaned in the house...the one behind that gate. I knew I would never be welcome...never find peace in the beauty behind the gate as I stood waiting daily for my Mama to finish working so we could walk home together and she could tell me all about her day.

Always...I wish you peace, joy and happiness, but most of all I wish you Love.As Ever, Annie

All to often, there are small children with big dreams that can never be realized due to the color of their skin, the ethnicity of their family, and the jobs performed by their parents to create comfort for others. This piece of fiction was written with a time frame just after the Great Depression where everyone was still struggling to have a life ... a life that provided any type of comfort. However, it could just as easily be a story of today...those types of things never seem to change.